Falling is just like flying
by theoncomingdrizzle
Summary: Martin fails. Again. This time with slightly worse consequences.
1. Chapter 1

The pilot stirred slowly from consciousness, all memory of the previous events a blur. The walls were white and blinding, and a nurse was busying herself in the far corner... "wh... wh... What happened?" he mumbled, words barely forming as he struggled to stay awake. The woman moved towards him, "There was a crash..." she said quietly, her voice sympathetic. Martin's eyes widened, "Don't worry about it now, you need rest." she responded quickly, turning and walking out of the room. The man closed his eyes, he could see it now, the panicked commands, the shrill cries, the plummet, falling faster and faster and faster, the warning lights lighting the way to the cold, unforgiving ground. Then nothing. He could hear the faint whimpering,_ "Skip…. Skip…"_ they were growing more urgent, more desperate, until silence fell and all that could be heard was harsh, rugged breathing. The smell of fuel and blood and pain was hovering, hanging heavily in the air, suffocating him and enveloping tightly around him. He tried to force his eyes open, to breathe, to escape. He was caught in its hold and he couldn't break free.

He felt a firm hand shaking his shoulder, and eventually he managed to prise his eyes open, still haunted by the destruction he had witnessed just moments before. A doctor was stood next to his bed, blue eyes grave and skin pale. His dark hair was ruffled from having hands dragged through it and he twiddled his thumbs nervously. "Do you remember, Martin?" he asked tentatively. The Captain thought back, the whimpers still ringing in his head, "Oh God, Oh my God. Arthur, Douglas, Carolyn?" The Doctor's face was expressionless as Martin looked up, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and his skin was growing deathly pale. "I'm sorry," The man looked up to meet his patient's gaze, "We did all we could..." The pilot took a deep, shaky breath. _What have I done? _The man winced as every possibility crashed through his mind, unrelenting and each one reminding him of what had happened, what he had done. "Mr. Shappey's injuries were too great, I'm sorry." Martin dropped his head into his hands, feeling nothing. No tears fell, no words were murmured. Just emptiness. He was frozen in shock, fear and hatred only to be brought out of his stupor by the creaking of the hospital door and a familiar face peering round the corner, "Martin, thank God you're ok!" The red-haired man slowly brought his head up, a solitary tear rolling down his pale cheek, he opened his mouth to speak but it was dry and the air was crushing down on him only for him to be saved by his First Officer, his friend who was now gently wrapping his arm around his shoulders. The tear was followed by another and another until there was a steady stream trickling down his face until they landed to join the others on the now slightly damp older man.

Martin awoke yet again to the unwelcoming brightness of the surrounding room, highly contrasting his usual dark, dinghy attic room to which he usually woke to. It had been a week since the crash and to his right was sat the sleeping Douglas, his arm was in a cast and the purple bruises were spread across his skin, he looked strangely unsettled compared to his usual sarcastic self and Martin berated himself yet again, why did he have to make everyone's life a misery? He could smell the alcohol and knew that the other man had started drinking again, he moved his gaze across the rest of him and noticed the missing ring, things obviously not going well with Helena either. He sat for a while, wrapped up in his own thoughts, only to be interrupted by an unreasonably chirpy voice "Mr Crieff, you'll be glad to know you can go home today" Martin sighed a sigh of relief, he wished for nothing better than to be able to shut himself away from the rest of the world, hiding away in the hope to make things better. As he gathered up his few belongings he said a final goodbye to his still sleeping friend, before closing the door on him. Before closing the door on everyone.

It had been a month, a month of regret, a month of guilt and a month of wishing. He had lost count of the missed calls, the unanswered knocks on the door, the amount of times he had replied "I'm fine", and really it was only a matter of time before someone forced their way in, but this was Martin and he refused to believe anyone would want to. He didn't know what time it was, recently his days had just merged into one, one tedious, dreary existence, waking up to nothing and going to sleep to the memories that haunted him. The silence of his room was broken by a sharp knocking on the door, not unlike the other times, but this time it wasn't fading away, each knock finding its way towards the man and urging him to open up and let someone in. Anyone. "Martin, I know you're there." Douglas called, knocking on the door harder now. Martin grumbled and got up from where he was seated, curled up on the floor against the wall, fighting to get through the barrier he had set up, tentatively he reached towards the latch, fingers outstretched and using all his strength clasped onto it and tugged it revealing a dishevelled Douglas. "Can I come in?" he asked, narrowing his eyes as he looked at his surroundings, as he took in the appearance of the man in front of him, "Martin, you can't live like this. Shutting yourself off won't help." Martin sighed as he made his way to the table, seating himself down and waiting for Douglas to do the same. "It will help everyone else." He stated bluntly. "You need help Martin!" Martin scoffed and chuckled darkly, "And how much have you had to drink this morning Douglas?" he snapped back, "If anyone needs help it's you." At this Douglas arose abruptly, his hand slipping into his pocket and shuffling around for something, he pulled out a piece of paper and placed it on the table. "Goodbye Martin" he sighed as he made his way out of room and the door closed yet again. Martin reached out towards the piece of paper, the familiar writing scrawled across it...  
"_Ella Thompson- therapist. Please call" _followed by a phone number, the pilot closed his hand around it tightly, crushing it as it was crushing him. He needed help.


	2. Chapter 2

Martin was sat in the unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar chair, with an unfamiliar woman prying into subjects that were all too familiar to him. "Martin, you need to talk about what is troubling you. It will help, trust me." Martin nodded, clenching his fists as he looked to the ground in order to avoid her gaze. "It's all my fault" he whispered quietly, his voice trailing off at the end as he closed his eyes attempting to prevent the tears from falling. "Martin, please listen. It's not your fault. Say it." Ella didn't once take her eyes off of the broken man in front of her, brown eyes filled with compassion and warmth. Silence fell upon the room, all that could be heard was the constant ticking of the clock. Always there, always counting down to one final moment, then when it finally comes around you spend the time searching for something, no matter how big, just something to live for. For Martin it used to be the flying, he remembers sitting alone, head in hands, tousled hair, simply waiting for that moment. Waiting for the envelope to be passed to him and knowing what is in it is his future, and even when he failed he would simply wait for that moment again. When he finally passed his CPL exam he would count down to the flying, every trip was its own special moment and they made his life a happy one. Until the crash. It was a special moment in a way, and sometimes, just sometimes, Martin wonders whether that was what the clock was counting down for all along, and now that it had arrived the future full of hopes and dreams now lay in the long-forgotten past, buried in the barren wilderness. Now there was nothing, only a bundle of cells, earnestly searching for something to cling onto, so desperate for some reason to exist.  
"It is not your fault" repeated Ella, breaking the silence that had wrapped itself around them, breaking Martin out of his thoughts. His eyes widened, opening his mouth and attempting to force out the words, "I... I'm sorry. I can't do this" he choked out as he hurriedly stood up and turned towards the door, apologising endlessly as he walked out into the waiting room and collapsed into the nearest seat. He didn't pay any attention to the man now walking past, into the room of which he had just emerged.

He sat staring ahead, unblinking and unaware of his surroundings, oblivious of the man who was now trying to get his attention. "Excuse me." Martin looked up at the man who stood in front of him, his posture was rigid and firm and in his right hand was a cane resting lightly on the ground, his blue eyes were dull, yet still stood out from his pale, tired face. "I think this is your phone, you left it." He outstretched the arm that didn't hold the cane and Martin took the phone, attempting to smile gratefully. "Thank you... err."  
"John. John Watson."  
"Thank you, John." John nodded in response and then swiftly turned and made his way out of the building, the tapping of the cane echoing in Martin's mind as the man disappeared from view.


End file.
